Talk to me
by Mathilda Dahl
Summary: A psychological study of Jane thinly disguised as a Mary Jane. How the fact that he is a borderline sociopath gets past the bulk of Mentalist fans is beyond me. Look up the Hare scale and see how many boxes he ticks on it if you don't believe me.


Talk to me.

There had to be a camera ... there was no way a detail-obsessed control freak with a fondness for hidden cameras wasn't watching him right now. Jane looked around the cheap motel room ... the footage she, and he was pretty sure it was a she, had sent him had a tendency to be filmed from vantage points in the corner of the room. He froze, then smiled and waved.

'Hello'. He took a few steps towards where a telltale patch clear of dust on top of the wardrobe gave away the location, and waved. 'I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me.' He took out his phone and showed it to the camera. He gestured to it, then made a point of laying back on the bed and crossing his ankles, just in case there was no microphone. Whomever had set up his playdate for him knew his brand of shower gel and shoe size. They'd know his mobile number.

About ten seconds later a phone rang, muffled, hidden under the bed. He slipped his hand under the mattress and pulled out a disposable Nokia, which had some kind of black box screwed onto the back with 'Encrypted phone' written in silver marker on it.

He lay back down on the bed, may as well get comfortable. 'Hello.'

"Mr Jane, please return to your place of work. You need an alibi for the time the fire starts, and I don't have time for a chat.' The voice was a soft, computer-generated female voice with a pleasant Californian accent. Impossible to tell emotional state or age from it. Hell.

'Mmm. No.'

There was what was probably an exasperated silence. Then:

'Mr Jane... there's a derelict house with a dead attorney general in it, and it has your prints all over it. There are two vehicles I need to dispose of, and other sundries I have to be getting along with, and I'm a bit pressed for time. What is so urgent that it can't wait until later?'

Interesting ... the tone wasn't local, or even American. But English as a mother tongue. Too verbose to be very young.

'You won't call me later. And I want you to talk to me now. I need company.'

He stretched out on the bed and kicked off his shoes for effect, and smiled as charmingly as he could at the camera. 'It's been a hell of an evening, and I'll never be able to talk about this with anyone else.' He ran his hair through his damp curls, and glanced over at the plastic bag with the black sweats and sneakers that she'd left out for him earlier that evening in the bathroom of the house he'd just left, twins of the blood-soaked clothes he'd left at the scene. She was forensically paranoid, apparently. 'I just want to know who made my dreams come true.' A visceral memory flashed in his mind, twisting a faint smile onto his face. His heart beat speeded up. 'Thank you'.

'You're welcome. A better way to express gratitude would be to not mess this up and get back to the office.'

'No. An alibi for right now isn't essential - you made sure I had a rock-solid alibi for the time of his disappearance.' Nothing better than being in an office full of cops when the man you've wanted to kill for years is abducted. 'How did you do it? I gotta know.'

There was a pause. 'A quail's egg full of ether and breathing apparatus for myself.'

'And why?'

'He annoyed me by jerking me about on the phone.'

Patrick laughed. 'The real reason'.

There was a long pause. 'It was the most pragmatic solution. He'd be nearly impossible to prosecute, it was very likely that he'd cause at least a couple of extra deaths or leave the country. The bankers who funded him would have made a standard prosecution impossible. Then there was the issue of what would happen if he was simply raised as a suspect. I had visions of you having a hypnotically-programmed Rigsby pinning him down for you or keeping your colleagues out of the room while you sliced him up with whatever blade you'd hidden around the office.'

Jane was genuinely surprised. 'How did you know about that?' He'd been working with the CBI agents for two years and not even Lisbon suspected he had that ace hidden.

'I hacked into the DOJ database for the last two years of case files as well as the Red John files, and I've had surveillance in the the building for a while. You were desperate, and you're not good at respecting people's boundaries. It's what you would do. I couldn't work out where you kept the blade though. Lisbon's office seemed a likely spot.'

He'd hidden it there the week he'd started at the CBI. Damn. 'You wired up government offices on your own? I'm impressed.' A little flattery wouldn't hurt here. Get her to open up, give him some information. She knew him way too well for comfort.

'Yes. But heavily disguised. Looking back through the security footage won't give you anything.' Despite the synthed voice, he could tell she was amused.'Mr Jane, I've been very careful. Every single piece of hardware I used has been junked, nothing purchased can be traced to me, and I have no connections other than this evening to him or you. You'll excuse my bluntness, but I know that you tortured a man to death and I'm the only person that can tie you to this... I don't want you turning up on my doorstep to snip off a loose end.'

'It hurts me that you'd think I'd do something like that.' And he wouldn't, she'd done him the biggest favour in history and he owed her. Normally he'd be a bit hazy about the whole 'repaying a debt' concept, but this was something that would have a hold on him for the rest of his life. 'I owe you'.

'You don't need to repay me. If you really want to make me happy ... hang up and get back to the damn office.'

'No'. He smiled. Something about this conversation ... deflecting with sarcasm and trying to change the subject too much. She also seemed to have an overly-deep understanding of how his mind worked, which meant she must have spent a lot of time observing him, which was worrying. Time to start pushing a few buttons, but gently. 'I need to talk. I murdered someone tonight.' He added a note of fragility to his voice. If he was wrong, she'd hang up.

There was another long pause. 'Mr Jane, if you think you are going to have some kind of breakdown, call that psychiatrist friend of yours and get yourself committed for a few weeks until you feel able to cope.'

So she knew about Sophie too. She also didn't hang up. Offered a practical solution though, and one that would keep him out of jail. 'Oh, I'm not that messed up, I just need to talk.'

'Or possibly you are just trying to keep me talking to squeeze some information out of me.'

She knew what he was doing, but still didn't hang up, just on the off chance he really might need to talk . Very telling.

'I already have plenty of information.'

'Really? Go on then, dazzle me.'

'You are an English woman, about thirty I'd say, very intelligent but self educated - so probably from a bad background. You are extremely psychologically astute, physically fit, introverted, very practical, and this is the first time you've ever done anything illegal.'

There was a pause, then ... 'Bloody waste of time ...' and a clicking sound. 'I knew you'd figure out I was English if we talked more than a minute.' This time it was her own voice, definitely a lower-class accent, sounding moderately irritated. 'Anything else?'

'And you love me.'

He could hear a sharp intake of breath. 'Oh, do I?' Sarcasm again. 'I don't think so'.

'Liar.' Jane smiled. 'No-one would go to this kind of trouble for someone they didn't care very deeply about. The meticulous attention to each tiny detail, the care put into providing me with a solid alibi and cleaning up the evidence. How difficult and dangerous it must have been for a woman to abduct a 160lb serial killer from under the noses of security cameras and staff and spirit him away to be left for me without a mark on him. And the kneeling position you had him taped in, and the mirrors so he could see what I was doing to him ... real attention to detail.' Jane made a 'perfect' gesture towards the camera with his hand. 'I gotta say, you really know how to organise a murder. But you just don't make that kind of effort without a compelling reason. Everything about this evening has been about me. Giving me what I want, and making sure I'm safe.'

She took a deep breath.'I don't love you, Mr Jane. I know what love is, and this isn't it.' she sighed.' I've had some kind of breakdown and I'm not behaving rationally. The old me would never have done this. I did this so I could move on, so I didn't have to worry about you. I couldn't just tell you who he was, there was too much chance you'd get caught or killed. With him gone you are safe, or at least you will be once the rest of the footage reaches the cops and they pull in his banking cronies and Cho. This is really all I could do for you; make sure that you got what you needed in a safe, controlled way. And I'm sorry about that. I know you would have preferred to have hunted him down yourself and and taken him to your house, but it was much safer this way. I promise, this is the one and only time I'll interfere in your life.' She sounded amused for a second. 'As deranged stalkers go, I haven't been too odious.'

So, she'd lost her husband, probably fixated on him and his tragedy from a sense of sympathy and gone off the rails. She didn't sound insane though. 'When did you realise you'd become obsessive?'

'After a few days of watching footage from the CBI. I was trying to figure out who in the office was passing on information to him, and whether it was being done innocently. I just started listening out for you, at first.' She broke off. 'At first it was just another project, the other times I've left information anonymously with the police. But it became apparent once I uncovered the conspiracy that you'd be in real danger if I did that. If that bankers' club thought you had anything to do with his death they'd hire a hit man, or you'd get caught by the cops for killing him and end up in prison. Again. And then there was the chance you'd get killed by a colleague if you tried to carve him up on the premises. I just kept coming back to this way being the safest way. '

'You've tracked down other killers?' Some kind of vigilante maybe - no, that didn't fit.

'Usually by reading the files and just using logic on them - mainly cold cases. I have a gift for it. I've never had to use surveillance or do anything so drastic before.'

A cop's wife... husband dead in the line of duty? That would explain the access to the files. She wouldn't be hard to find if that was the case.

'How long did it take you to find him?' Seven years of fruitless searching, and working for the bastard and having him yanking on his chain for two of them ... he had to know.

'I guessed as soon as I read the Renfrew file. It was very obvious that Red John was a part of the justice system and extremely highly placed in it; the other pointer was when I figured out how the other victims were selected - the husbands were always the primary target, the dead wives just a means to an end. It's why the CBI had so little joy in figuring out how the victims were selected ... the husbands had pissed off his golfing buddies or him in some way, the wives were just collateral damage to them. Once I figured out this, and that he was getting into the houses dressed as a cop ... well ... all in all about three weeks, but longer before I had solid proof from the surveillance.'

His fists clenched. Three weeks. He slammed his head into the pillow. Calm down, don't make her think you are angry with her. He laughed, a tear was escaping. And he thought he was so smart. Calm down.

'I'm sorry, I'm not angry with you. I should have figured that out myself.' Time and time again there had been hints that he'd been senior law enforcement. Stupid to have missed it.

'Yes. You should have.'

He blinked, and looked up at the camera, surprised. Well, she wasn't one to sugar-coat things. She was unlikely to be a habitual liar.

There were a few moments of silence - he could hear traffic noise, inside some medium-sized car. She was probably parked up near the murder scene, waiting for him to get off the phone so she could torch the place. It had stank of ethyl ether when he was in there.

'Does it feel any better?'

Patrick smiled. 'It still hurts, I can never bring them back. But it feels better, like it's ended. I don't feel so powerless anymore.' Why not be honest for a change.

'Hmm.' It sounded like this was what she had expected to hear.

'How did you know I'd be able to go through with it? I could have lost my nerve, called Lisbon. There would have been forensic evidence all over the place linking you to it.'

'I studied you. Small things ... they give you away.' She took a deep breath. 'You aren't a 'nice guy'. You are very pretty and charming, but you aren't nice. The first real guide to your character was how you used to make a living. No-one at the CBI thought to ask why you spent your life ripping off the grieving and gullible when you could pull down half a million in two days gambling. I mean, a month in Vegas and you would be set for life, but you spent years messing with people's minds for the sheer amusement of it. It wasn't a case of you being a showman - the reasons behind your past profession were darker.

'Other things from the case files, and from watching you in the office - you lack sympathy. It's almost as if it's something you have to tell yourself to do. When you shot that sheriff, I'm guessing you probably had to fake the 'freaked out' reaction Lisbon mentioned in her write-up. And other small things ... using Lisbon's access to the database, the carefully-crafted illusion that you were physically incapable of violence ...'

He could almost see her shrugging. 'Illusion?' Just what had she seen when she'd watched him?

'Mr Jane, you're a smart guy. You intended to hunt down and cut up a violent, practised psychopath. There's no way you'd do that without some kind of experience - only an idiot would try that without training. Something confirmed when I read up on how you managed to knock that man down when you were blinded. And you were also too fast figuring out how to get that shotgun working when you killed Hardy - and he wasn't that close but you still hit him. You spent your teen years travelling on a fairground circuit, and those are rough places. My guess is that you've been keeping your hand in with some kind of training just in case. All your mannerisms ... the suits, the teacups, the fussiness, are designed to make you look non-threatening to the world. If they had got John into the office it would have been important that your colleagues weren't wary of you. It would have made getting close enough to kill him difficult.'

Two years and not one of his colleagues had realised that. Well, there was no point in hiding now. After all, he had just joyfully tortured a man to death, and she knew it. 'Where did you learn to cold read?'

'I didn't.' She sounded almost embarrassed. 'I just understand you, for some reason. Right from the start. You are just about the most manipulative human I've ever known, and you have a cruel streak to you. I'm guessing you actually enjoyed killing Red John tonight.' She paused, probably studying his response. 'Yep, you did. Want something else insightful? You probably cheated on your wife a lot. Yours is not the sort of personality that manages fidelity well.'

Jane reeled a little from the barb - she was trying to make him dislike her, which would be odd behaviour if she were a love-struck obsessive. 'Yes I did'. The first time he'd ever admitted to that - unlike most men he'd been very adept at keeping his liaisons hidden. Something that now made him feel faintly sick when he remembered how he'd betrayed his wife.

'Still think I love you?' There was a hollow tone to her voice.

'Absolutely and unconditionally.' He looked up at the camera, stunned. 'You know me. No-one knows me. People aren't supposed to see me. But you do and you don't turn away.' Now that was a first. Everyone who'd claimed to love or like him before had never had a clue, they only saw the surface charm.

That might explain why she didn't want to meet him. 'You're not scared that I'll harm you, are you? You're scared that I'll want you.' Which meant she was probably quite attractive. 'You're afraid that I'll take over your life.' So, good looking, very clever and loved him unconditionally - even knowing the real Patrick - and willing to do anything for him ...

'Meet me. Now.' He sat up and looked directly at the camera

'No.' She sighed. 'I'm insane, not stupid.'

'Then I'm coming to the house, you have to go back there to torch it. You'll have to come back there at some point tonight.' He started pulling on his shoes.

'I remote torched it as soon as you reached the hotel room. There are fire engines there already. Like you said, an alibi for the fire wasn't essential. And don't bother looking for the Chevy in the motel lot, I took it as soon as you shut the door.'

Of course she had. She'd have known that as soon as he'd finished killing John she'd lose all control of him. She had allowed him to 'keep her' on the phone to keep him away from the building while it burned and his attention engaged while she removed the car he'd driven to and from the scene in. Clever. He sat back down. 'How much of the information you fed me in that conversation was lies?'

'Everything, except why I did this. I just wanted you to be happy and safe. No strings. I'm not going to follow you around or anything. I know my behaviour has got out of control, and I'm ending this now.' She laughed bitterly. 'I've just told a lonely control freak who tortured a man to death that I love him unconditionally, and I have shown beyond all doubt that I'd do anything for him. Sticking around would a very unhealthy idea. If you ever got hold of me my life would not be my own. So, I'll be long gone by tomorrow. I have plans for my life and they don't involve you.'

'Just tell me one thing ... why do you love me?' So far all she had done was observe his darker side.

'Because you are you. There is nothing and no-one else like you '

And there it was, a moment of naked honesty. Finally.

He stood up and walked over to the camera; after a few moments of fumbling he grabbed the tiny black lens and pointed it at his face. 'Can you see my face clearly?'

'Yes.'

'Good, because I want you to understand something. I'm going to find you. It might take a while, but someday it will happen.' Patrick smiled his very best smile for his new friend. 'I mean, I can't just allow you to roam around knowing what you do about me, way too risky. So, one day I'll be there, and after a few weeks of conditioning you'll adjust and we'll both have what what really want; I get someone who worships me and you get to make me happy. Can you cook?'

There was a sharp intake of breath, a panicked sound. And then the phone clicked off. Damn, she'd hung up on him.

After a few minutes of unsuccessfully trying to call her back, Jane lay back down on the bed. As the night wore on he lay still, eyes wide and staring at the stained ceiling, then some time close to dawn he smiled widely, closed his eyes and slept.

Three months later.

Patrick had almost finished his tea, not a bad blend, maybe a bit strong. He swirled it around in the patterned china cup, and finally a key rattled in the front door. He took a last sip, and leant back in the wooden chair, making no attempt to hide. A slender young woman walked straight past him. Feathered fair hair in a short bob, white silk blouse, long patterned skirt, nice rear view. She dropped a paper bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter and froze. Ahh, she'd seen the out of place teapot. She reached out a shaking hand and touched it - still warm huh? He smiled as she almost looked over her shoulder, too scared to turn around. He very deliberately clinked the cup into the saucer and placed it on the round kitchen table, and he watched her shoulders sag slightly. Her head made just the tiniest movement, as if considering a run for the door.

'You wouldn't make it to the door before me.' He was amused. She rocked slightly as if she were faint.

'How did you find me?' She sounded almost sick.

'You said 'I have plans for my life'. There was really only one thing a someone like you would mean by that - intelligent but no formal education and making a fresh start. You were going to college. After that it was just a matter of checking the all the psychology courses for British applicants and tracking them down, which was extremely tedious. Harvard, I'm impressed.'

'It's always the little things that give you away.' She was barely audible.

He stood up, and looked her up and down.'You'll have to look at me at some point. Turn around.'

Slowly she turned around to face him, arms hugging herself defensively and looking very pale. Delicate face, decent rack. And one hundred percent his.

'A pleasure to meet you, Miranda.' 


End file.
